Sheldon’s Cat
by hey citrus
Summary: Is there a fatal flaw in Sheldon's hypothesis? And is the cat dead or alive? Slash: Leonard/Sheldon. Chapter 2 now up!
1. Chapter 1

_Warnings: __Slash, smut._

_Pairing: Leonard/Sheldon_

_Spoilers: Takes place during Season 1, episode 17 (The Tangerine Factor)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like to play with them a little._

_Author's note: All feedback gratefully received._

* * *

Sheldon's Cat

Chapter 1

"You know…" said Leonard, as he sat on the couch, flipping his reversible tie from front to back, back to front again, trying to remember which side Penny found the least offensive. "I've been thinking about your supposition on the Penny situation's similarity to Schrödinger's Cat, and I think your conclusion has a fatal flaw."

"How so?" asked Sheldon, indignant in his ergonomically designed office chair, though his eyes remained fixed on his laptop screen, on which he was concurrently carrying out a game of Tetris and bidding on Flash Comics #59 on Ebay.

"Well, you were implying that until Penny and I go on a date, we won't know if our potential relationship has any… well… potential. At this stage, the romantic possibilities could be thought of as both dead and alive, just like Schrödinger's cat, shut in the box with the poison."

"Leonard, does this remedial repetition actually have a point or has your IQ finally dropped to that of one of my luminous goldfish?"

"Wait, I haven't finished. The flaw is, your hypothesis could equally be applied to myself plus any other female subject. Penny, Penny's friends, Lesley Winkle, Missy, your mom, the girl who played Winnie Cooper on The Wonder Years. So if you presuppose that romantic attraction would be possible between myself and any subject, and you conclude that the correct path of action would be to date said subject, then you're suggesting in effect that I take every woman in the world out for Thai food."

"That's ridiculous. Look how much trouble you had finding even one woman who'd go out with you."

"Ha ha Sheldon. But I'm serious. I don't think that this date is such a good idea. According to your analysis, it would make just as much sense for you and me to be dating."

Sheldon sighed. Paused his game of Tetris. Minimised his browser window. Laid down his Magic Marker and pushed away the board where he'd been absentmindedly doodling ideas on String Theory.

He swivelled round in his chair to face Leonard, and wheeled over to the couch, stopping just short of Leonard and his now-discarded tie.

"Leonard. Brushing aside the fact that your critique on my, or indeed Schrödinger's hypothesis is both facile and redundant, as well as the related fact that even someone as unversed in human semiotics as I can clearly see that the only reason you're finding fault with it is due to your nerves at finally being given a chance, however slim, to instigate intercourse with a girl whose mail you've been stealing for months in a transparently adolescent attempt to get her to notice you as anything other than the Hobbit next door..."

"Hey!"

"Brushing all that aside, exactly what do you mean it would make sense for you and I to date?"

"Oh, I was just using us as an example" said Leonard, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"That's as may be. But I resent the implication. Schrödinger or no, I think we can safely assume that our particular cat is not only dead, but probably in the latter stages of decomposition."

"Aha! So you admit the theory is flawed!"

"No Leonard. I merely think you're flawed if you imagine for one second that there could ever be a romantic entanglement between an intellectual giant such as myself and a workaday drone such as you."

"Sheldon…" Leonard's face had darkened, his eyebrows lowered in a frown.

Sheldon recognised that look, as well as the instruction that usually followed it.

"Go away?"

"No" replied Leonard. "Come here."

He leaned forward and grabbed Sheldon by his skinny shoulders. Before the other man could object, Leonard planted a firm, angry kiss on Sheldon's shocked mouth. Sheldon raised his arms to push Leonard away, but they got as far as brushing the other scientist's shirt, hovered midair for a moment, then wilted down by his side again. He closed his eyes and let the kiss continue, more softly now, their mouths shyly opening, tasting each other for the first time. Leonard's hand reached up and stroked the back of Sheldon's head, hesitant fingers tracing through short, downy brown hair.

When they finally broke apart, Leonard backed self-consciously onto the couch. He removed his steamed-up glasses and wiped them on his shirt. Putting them back on, he looked up at a dazed and faraway Sheldon and felt panic rise in his chest. He didn't know how the other man would react to this. He was terrified that Sheldon would freak out and shut himself away in his room again, that he'd retreat into spooked-deer mode and scurry about the apartment gathering snacks in silence for ever more, avoiding eye contact with anyone present. Leonard didn't know how he could explain _this_ to Sheldon's mother.

Then Sheldon emerged from thought. He looked up; gave one of his economical little smiles.

"Well," he said. "Dress me in a yellow cape and call me the Boy Wonder. I think I just heard a miaow."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Leonard slid his key into the lock, turned it gently and eased open the door to the apartment. It was after midnight, and he didn't want to wake Sheldon. He crept in and closed the door with an almost imperceptible click. The living room was as dark as Batman's cape, but he didn't turn on the light.

He leaned back against the door, key still grasped in his hand. His head, cushioned by his thick wavy hair, rested against the hard wooden surface. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He felt absolutely in turmoil. His date with Penny had been a letdown. Sure, they'd kissed. Even before they'd gone out. And sure, it was nice. But that was about it. Nice. Pleasant. But it had hardly set him on fire. It had been nothing like the fantasy he'd been building up in his head for so long.

He couldn't help comparing it to the spontaneous kiss he and Sheldon had shared only hours before. The thought of it turned his insides to hot liquid. How Sheldon's initial resistance had quickly melted into curious acceptance. How soft, almost feminine Sheldon's lips had felt against his own. How Sheldon's fingertips had lightly grazed his chest. Leonard raised his own fingers to his chest, and traced the pattern left by the other man. He bit his lip as he trailed his hand down over his stomach, blazing a new path that Sheldon had yet to follow. He allowed his fingers to pop open the button on his brown corduroy suit jacket, which he then shrugged off and let drop to the floor. He loosened his tie. Untucked his shirt. Slipped out of his shoes. All silently and in the dark still.

He moved to the couch, feeling his way with outstretched hands, still managing to knock his shin into the coffee table. He suppressed a yelp of pain and fell on the couch, furiously rubbing the injured spot. The sharp pain soon subsided, replaced by an almost pleasant warm throb. He realised that he was sitting in Sheldon's favoured place on the couch, the place where he sat to watch Dr Who and eat cereal. He felt a flush of affection towards his idiosyncratic friend. And then, remembering the kiss, a flush of something more akin to lust.

He replayed the scene in his head once more as he stroked one hand over his chest and one up his inner thigh. He was just starting to become aroused when he heard a noise. He froze. Strained hard to listen. It sounded like Sheldon… calling him?

He sat up straight, heart thumping. Silence. Then suddenly, there it was again. Very muted; barely audible:

"Leonard…"

Could Sheldon have heard him come in? Impossible, he'd been so quiet. But maybe he'd heard him bang his shin on the coffee table. That was empirically unlikely too, taking into account the variables of distance, sound, and the acoustics of the apartment. There was always the chance that the noise had been a construct of his psyche, brought on by his current fixation on all things Sheldon. Or that Sheldon really had called him, that he was sick (god forbid, not another code Milky Green situation), or maybe (he hardly dared think about this possibility) he was calling Leonard for another reason…

Leonard decided that a controlled experiment was the only way forward: he would have to get closer in order to come to a conclusion. Hesitantly, he rose from the couch and made slow progress through the darkened room and down the corridor towards Sheldon's bedroom. He crouched and waddled in a most ungainly way, like a frog, arms waving in front and to the side of him, so as to prevent his shins from further damage.

When he reached Sheldon's room, he stopped, straightening up. He couldn't hear anything except for his own quickened pulse and ragged breathing. He leaned into the doorway, intending to press his ear up to the door in order to better hear. The next thing he knew, he was stumbling sideways into Sheldon's bedroom; the door had been left open.

Well that's a first, thought Leonard. In fact, that was his second thought, after 'Aaargh!' He was so jumpy at the prospect of being caught spying on Sheldon that when he'd found himself suddenly standing in Sheldon's room, he had freaked out and automatically flung himself to the floor. He lay on the rug, barely daring to breathe. He thought maybe he'd heard a noise, a groan or grunt of awakening, but now all was quiet.

After waiting a few more seconds to be sure, he scooched over on his rear to the near side of the room, where he pressed his back to the wall, hugging his knees close, hoping the chest of drawers would block him from Sheldon's line of vision should he awake.

From this vantage point he cast a nervous glance over Sheldon's room. It wasn't as dark here as it was in the rest of the apartment, on account of the goldfish nightlight swimming in a glass bowl next to Sheldon's bed, casting an eerie orange glow over the blankets. Shadows formed and dispersed, leading Leonard to conclude that the figure underneath, which by Occam's Razor was presumably Sheldon, must be at least breathing, if not moving.

Leonard felt immobilised, unsure of what to do next. On the one hand he had heard no further proof that Sheldon had summoned him. And on the other… well, the door _had _been left open. That was almost an invitation in itself, wasn't it? No no, he chided himself. This was Penny's middle-of-the-night guerrilla apartment cleaning all over again. This was an invasion of Sheldon's privacy, it was wrong. He should go.

He lifted himself up on his haunches and fixed his gaze on the bed, wanting to ensure a safe and non-embarrassing exit. Just at that moment, there was a flurry of movement as the covers were thrown violently back. They cleared the bed and landed in a heap on the floor near where Leonard crouched; hunched, frozen. His eyes were fixed on a shirtless Sheldon in forest green plaid pyjama pants, sprawled on his back with his eyes closed. His skinny, sparsely haired chest glowed with reflected orange light; it rose and fell slowly. One of his hands lay palm up beside his head on the pillow, the other rested low on his stomach, just above the waistband of his pants. His legs were parted, one knee pointing out to the side at a shallow angle.

If Leonard had been talking, this sight would have struck him speechless. As it was, all he could do was sit and gawp. He'd seen Sheldon half-dressed before, of course he had. But always carrying a certain tension, a certain gauche awkwardness. This was the first time he'd ever seen the other man looking so relaxed and unguarded, so comfortable in his own skin. And this, realised Leonard with a little jolt, was more than a little sexy. He began to feel a new tightening in his suit trousers.

Just then, Sheldon started to mumble incoherently. A startled Leonard could only catch one murmured word.

"Leonard…"

His heart began beating wildly. Was Sheldon really dreaming about him?

Sheldon giggled, sounding almost like Missy.

"VapoRub… my chest?"

His hand started rubbing his chest in counter-clockwise circles as he made little happy noises. The other hand, the one that had rested on his belly, now started to make its way under the waistband of his pyjamas.

Oh God, thought Leonard. He's not…

But he was indeed. Sheldon's hand was moving rhythmically up and down inside his now-tented pants. He began to emit small, very un-Sheldon-like moans.

Leonard fought to unbutton his own pants with shaking fingers. All thoughts of the dubious morality of the enterprise had gone out of the window, along with his paranoia about being caught spying; both chased away by the animal need which consumed him.

He pulled down his pants and disentangled his boxer shorts from his raging erection, pulling them down too and shuffling forward so he was kneeling fully exposed at the foot of Sheldon's bed. He took hold of himself and began urgently stroking, helplessly aroused by the sight of the other man's masturbation. He wished Sheldon would take off his pants so he could get a look at his excited cock. He wished he could touch Sheldon's cock, stroke it, take it in his mouth…

He was panting now. Sheldon was still moaning and touching himself. The hand on his chest was now brushing his hard nipples; Leonard mirrored him with a hand under his own shirt. He pinched and pulled at them as his other wrist pumped up and down. He was so close, but wanted to wait, to see Sheldon's face as he came.

He didn't have to wait long. Sheldon's hand began to move faster and he was bucking his hips. His bare chest glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. His mouth was slightly open and his tongue protruded from between his lips. His breath came out in hard jagged bursts between moans. Suddenly he cried out.

"Leonard!"

His hips jerked upwards as he spasmed, face screwed up, mouth a wide 'O'.

This was more than enough to push Leonard over the edge. As he shot hot semen into his palm, and bliss washed through his body, he couldn't stop himself from hoarsely exclaiming:

"Sh... Sheldon!"

*

The room was empty now, save for a tangled pile of sheets and blankets on the floor where Leonard had so recently knelt, and a sweaty and sticky physicist sprawled over the bare sheet of the bed. Seconds before, there had been a hasty chorus of rustling and bustling, punctuated by muttered curses, as the mortified Leonard, assaulted by the sober reality of what had just occurred, had made a rushed and stumbling half-dressed exit, lunging for the safety of his own room.

Under the orange glow of the fish, the other man's eyes slowly opened. The reflected light was so fierce that they appeared to flare and burn like ignited magnesium in a dark lab.


End file.
